Clair De Lune (27 page)

The warm, early June air drifted in through the open windows, carrying a hint of roses. It was lovely outside. Leaves, light, sparrows in the street—everything danced. The ordeal was over. She had weathered it, thanks to Mr. Frawley and thanks to him in triumph.

Beginning to believe it, she wanted to exult a little, throw her hat in the air, jump over the moon. At the very least she wanted to tell somebody. Her first thought was her mother. She would write to her immediately. No, the letter wouldn't get there before she did. She would go down to the Bonne Terre to a telephone booth and call her! But what would she say? That she had not lost her job after all? She had never told Mother that she
might
lose it. If she called home now, exulting, it would sound mighty suspicious. Dalton? But what if Mother were at the farm, as she so often was? That would raise too many questions. No, all she could say was that she had made up her mind to stay on. And that could wait till she got home.

But she wanted to share the news now, and how could she, without admitting that there had indeed been trouble. She hadn't admitted that to anyone but Dalton. Except, in a way, to Ansel. Poor Dr. Ansel. She had not thought of him all day. Old Ansel, crying and slobbering in her kitchen, with his pants undone and candy all over his chin. How could he stand himself? He probably couldn't.

Who was there to tell? The Ladies, of course, but that would mean admission, and be damned if she would. What they didn't know they didn't need to know. Anyway, in the mysterious ways of such words, the word was probably out already that she had not been fired.

She laughed and, heeding the clutter on her desk, sat down to finish her work. She had been ridding out for the summer when Roberta came to fetch her and had left the desk piled high with papers, odds and ends accumulated through the year. As she sorted through them, one of the odds and ends slipped off onto the floor. She picked it up, glancing at it as she dropped it into the wastebasket.
Rules for Teachers. 1872
. Something Ansel had come across in the course of his research and had brought in to show her. They had laughed over it one afternoon after school. Amused, she pulled it out of the basket and read it again.

Teachers each day will fill lamps, clean chimneys. Each teacher will bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal for the day's session.... Men teachers may take one evening each week for courting purposes, or two evenings if they go to church regularly.... Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.... Any teacher who smokes, uses liquor in any form, frequents pool halls, or gets shaved in a barber shop will give good reason to suspect his worth, intention, integrity and honesty....

She laughed and dropped the list back into the basket. Things had changed a little since 1872.

A few moments went by and a few more scraps into the basket before she paused again and looked up. But had they changed that much? She did not have to bring a scuttle of coal, and she hadn't been shaved in a barbershop. But conduct unseemly was unseemly, no matter what the year, and conduct immoral, immoral. Hers had been both. Mrs. Medgar knew. Toby and George knew. Mr. Frawley refused to know. And yet, she had not been dismissed. Not only that—she had been rewarded. She had accepted the dean's praise and his faith, though she was guilty of the rumored sins and a few unrumored, and she had not confessed. She was guilty of duplicity, of concealment amounting to a lie!

Still, she reasoned, trying to quiet her conscience, there had been punishment. Though she was spared the wrath of Mrs. Medgar and saved from the Inquisition, she had not been spared the tortures of remorse. It had cauterized her. And perhaps it had taught her something, something painfully learned from the students. Wasn't it enough that they had seen her descent from the pedestal where their respect had placed her? She had betrayed their respect. And wasn't it enough that in that descent she had lost the two she loved most? She had paid for her transgressions. She would go on paying for a long time yet. So perhaps repentance, even in silence, was enough, and she could be worthy of Mr. Frawley's trust.

She sat for a long time thinking. Then she sighed deeply. She had better be worthy of that trust. Without it, she would be on the streets selling
The Book of Knowledge
!

With one drawer emptied, she pulled out another and dumped the contents on the desk. But in spite of her guilt, the urge to rejoice caught her up again and she thought again of Ansel. She had scarcely seen him since that night in her apartment. No wonder; he was probably too embarrassed to live and probably still hung over. Silly old Phud. She couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

She was going through outdated lesson plans, carefully removing paper clips, when the bell rang for four o'clock. But the kids were already gone. She scooped the paper clips into a box and went on sorting odd pieces of paper.

Presently she heard Mae Dell and Gladys coming up the hall and the lounge door swing open. A moment later there was a polite cough in her doorway, and Verna, with a glance over her shoulder, stepped quickly into the room.

“Oh, hi, Verna, come on in.”

“Haven't got but a minute.” Verna glanced over her shoulder again and said, almost in a whisper, “I just wanted to say I'm glad you're coming back next fall.”

So the news was out. “Thank you, Verna.”

“Just thought I'd tell you.”

“That's nice of you. Thank you very much.”

Verna smiled and, looking embarrassed, sidled to the door and went out.

The lounge door swung open and shut another time or two, and after a bit the Ladies went off down the hall. She could hear Mae Dell asking why they had to go to the Show-Me again and Verna explaining that it was quicker.

As the voices faded, Allen turned back to her work. It was good of Verna to welcome her back, but they hadn't asked her to go out to supper with them. It was all right though. For all their avoidance of her in the last few weeks, she couldn't hold it against them. They were only protecting themselves. They had to; even less than the men could they afford a hint of suspicion. It was unfair.

She worked on for another twenty minutes. Then, with the desk cleared, she took her handbag out of the bottom drawer and pushed back her chair. But she lingered, watching the light break on the maple leaves outside the windows. There had been a time the other night when a different Ansel appeared. A man of some brilliance, who knew what he knew and loved it greatly. She had liked that man. That one did a great deal to redeem the other. Though not without a struggle. She rose with a shake of her head. Too bad it had to be so hard.

Turning to the blackboard, she erased the last chalk marks and stacked the erasers. She wiped her hands on a Kleenex and picked up her bag. But again she hesitated, and after a moment she set the bag down and went across to the windows. Though the sun was still high, the sky was beginning to turn gold over the red brick house. It would be a pretty night—clear, with a first-quarter moon. She turned quickly and picked up the bag. Then she set it down again. Well, both of them had suffered humiliation. And she too, knew something about mothers and the hammerlock they put on you in the name of love. She hesitated a moment longer, then went out and up the stairs to the second floor.

He was still at his desk, working. “Hello,” she said from the doorway.

He looked up, startled, and jumped to his feet, upsetting the chair. “Goddammit!” he said, setting it straight, and he turned to her, white-faced and defenseless.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah—sure—come on in.”

“I didn't know if you'd still be here.”

“I'm still here.” Too paralyzed to move, even to look away.

“It's kind of late. What are you working on, final reports?”

“Yeah, reports.”

“Tiresome, isn't it? Well, don't let me interrupt. I just wanted to tell you—”

“You're not interrupting.”

“—that I had a talk with Mr. Frawley this afternoon.”

The look on his face turned to horror. “You didn't say anything about—”

“Of course not!” she said, smiling. “I didn't say much at all. He did all the talking.”

“About me?”

“No, silly, about me. That business we were talking about last Friday night, remember? That stuff Mrs. Medgar had told him?”

Dr. Ansel sat down limp. “Oh, yeah, that.” Remembering his manners, he stood up again.

“Well, it's all cleared up, the rumors, everything. Mr. Frawley talked to her and explained. He thought she might make me go before the board and explain to them, but he changed her mind about that. Everything's okay. I've still got a job. They're not going to fire me.”

“Ah, that's good!”

“I thought you might like to know. You were so nice about it, speaking up. I thought maybe—”

“I'm glad it's cleared up. I mean it, I'm really glad!”

“So am I. Pretty, isn't it, the light outside? I was just wondering....” She paused, looking at him thoughtfully. He stood there rigid, but no longer quite so miserable. Clean-shaven, vested and buttoned, he looked in fairly good shape. She swallowed and said, “I was thinking, that as long as both of us are going, we might as well go to the wedding together.”

His mouth opened slowly.

“If you wouldn't mind coming by for me,” she said.

Staring, he said in a flat voice, “You—want me to take you?”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

“I wouldn't mind.” He came around the desk, catching his toe on the chair leg. “Heck, no, I'll be glad to!”

“And it's fine with me if you bring your mother.”

“Yeah, I'll have to.”

“About three-thirty—would that be all right?”

“Three-thirty, that's swell. Thanks a lot!” He was shaking her hand. “Thanks a whole lot. I'll be there, Johnny-on-the-spot. Golly,” he said, pumping up and down, “I didn't think you'd ever speak to me again after—” He stopped, letting her hand drop as he turned away from her. “Oh
God
,” he said. It came up from the depths.

“Don't worry about it. You had too much to drink, that's all. And I shouldn't have let you eat candy. They don't mix, you know.” She said it playfully, but he kept his back to her, shaking his head. “Except for that, you were fine—reading poetry and talking. You were just fine.”

“Allen—” He turned with a face full of humility and hurt. “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything.”

“I was blubbering, feeling sorry for myself.”

“We all do sometimes. You're no worse than the rest of us. Look, I've got to run. See you tonight.”

“Yes,” he said humbly, “thank you.”

“I'll be ready at three-thirty.”

“I'll be there.”

It was a good feeling, restoring a man's self-respect, some measure of it. It would help her. She wouldn't mind so much being seen with him. She wasn't wild about it, but he was so miserable, poor thing. And he was not a bad fellow. Maybe she could forget the embarrassing side and concentrate on the other. She ran down the steps, determined to try.

“
Hey. Teach!
”

She stopped like a reined-up pony and turned around. Toby and George were coming up from the front door.

“We were looking for you!” They came up the hallway at a trot, grinning all over.

“We were over at your house,” said George. “Where you been?”

“Upstairs,” she said in a shaky voice.

“You still workin'?” said Toby.

“Just getting ready to go home.”

“We'll go with you!”

He said it so merrily. They were all lit up, high spirits spilling over around them.

“Well,” she said and hesitated. She was a
teacher
—moral responsibility—dignity—“I'm awfully busy.”

The boys glanced at each other. “We've got to talk to you,” George said.

“What about?”

Another glance between them. “Well, the other night,” he began, “at baccalaureate—”

Toby broke in. “When you leavin' town?”

“Sunday.”

“Sunday!” Both of them said it.

“Jeez,” said Toby, “that's right around the corner.”

“Can't you hang around?” George said.

“I'm afraid not. Summer school.”

“Do you
have
to go to summer school?”

“Have to.”

“That's crummy.”

“I don't want to go!” She hadn't meant it to sound quite so woeful and she added hastily, “But I'll like it fine, once I get into it. I'm looking forward to it, really. I have lots of friends up there and, well, it should be fun.” She smiled. “Got to run now. See ya.”

But George had stepped in front of her, blocking the way. Pronouncing slowly, he said, “You aren't going to be with the Phud again tonight, are you?” He said it in disbelief, as if the very thought were preposterous.